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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619755">hail in the summer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8'>sunflower_8</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Complicated Relationships, Depression, Despair Era (Dangan Ronpa), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, kind of; it's not very cathartic, vent - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:49:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619755</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>he knows who he is, knows his purpose, knows that there’s only so many ways to deny the inevitable, so he keeps pushing through everything despite all that chases him, hoping that maybe, maybe he can survive it. but sometimes, the pace of his shadows quicken, and all he can see is the darkness, and every part of his past that he carefully hides away behind the taper of his smile comes up with bitter vengeance. it’s painful, knowing that he’s pained, and he tries to walk through what remains of towa city-- what remains of the world-- without acknowledging it.</p><p>the fact that he’s on the roof proves that he has failed.</p><p>(or, komaeda experiences a different kind of despair, and kamukura tries to talk him down.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Mixed_Fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hail in the summer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>sometimes, it hails in summer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ninety degree weather, absent from rainstorms or snow, and yet- hail slips by, hits the roofs of buildings with nothing to lose in the throes of july. eyes just barely glazed over, more glacial than the world has been in years, watch the tormented weather with curiosity. grey irises, fingertips the color of november, stare at patterns traced in windows (wait, wait) and yearn to join the downpour in some way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>though, he isn’t worth enough to find himself a piece of the earth. all he can do is fit himself into the cracks previously neglected, and hope that something takes pity on him, that he’ll have a perfect view of the despairing world despite this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>world aside, he is </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, sitting in front of a window on the top floor of a skyscraper, fiddling with the mechanism that could open it. if he wanted to feel the heat, simmering in his skin, it would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>so easy</span>
  </em>
  <span> to let the humidity in and let himself </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span>. he isn’t really sure why he refrains.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>sometimes, it all falls under his feet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he knows who he is, knows his purpose, knows that there’s only so many ways to deny the inevitable, so he keeps pushing through everything despite all that chases him, hoping that maybe, maybe he can survive it. but sometimes, the pace of his shadows quicken, and all he can see is the darkness, and every part of his past that he carefully hides away behind the taper of his smile comes up with bitter vengeance. it’s painful, knowing that he’s pained, and he tries to walk through what remains of towa city-- what remains of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>world</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- without acknowledging it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>the fact that he’s on the roof proves that he has failed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he wouldn’t fall, is the thing. he could, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>to. he wants to hear the chain around his neck clink against the pavement, join the mutilated corpses of those who tried to be survivors, become a mark of the historical tragedies that befell a once beautiful place (and, he can almost hear her voice in his ear, leaving traces along his neck, underneath the collar he hates to take off. he can almost hear her call it beautiful, even though this was all in the wake of her death. everything he has done for her-- everything he has done for </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- burns like the red sun). he wants to leave it all behind so, so bad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>but, he has a </span>
  <em>
    <span>purpose</span>
  </em>
  <span>. part of it may be to die, that is true, but before then, he has to </span>
  <em>
    <span>serve. </span>
  </em>
  <span>and sometimes? sometimes, he’s terrified he’ll stop </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting </span>
  </em>
  <span>to serve. but it’s all he knows, how to give up the most unsavory pieces of himself and allow the untainted pieces of society to accept it, cradle it to their chests. he’s rotten, even in their grasps, but he has a </span>
  <em>
    <span>purpose</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he can’t falter in it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>it’s why, even when he wants to throw himself out the window, even when he wants to tumble to the ground and become dust, he refrains.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>a more physical embodiment of his reason approaches him, the footsteps that would be silent if he weren’t so </span>
  <em>
    <span>paranoid </span>
  </em>
  <span>(maybe just accustomed). the figure that approaches, that lingers just far enough to not be considered </span>
  <em>
    <span>at his side, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but just close enough in a decrepit building to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>his. </span>
  </em>
  <span>or… maybe he has that reversed. “komaeda,” is what the person says, in a bored and toneless voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“kamukura-kun!” he almost chirps back, but his voice is empty. pain is a devastating thing, really; he used to be so good at pretending around him. it’s harder, now, because kamukura izuru will always know when he’s lying. he might resent him for it, but if he did, he would be second to know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>that’s… always how it is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he laughs a little, and he can almost feel the other tilt his head, noir strands of hair adjusting from where they sleep the floor. sometimes, it makes him feel safer. other times, he wants to tear every piece of it out and scream into his skull, settle into the darkest parts of his mind, but kamukura is a god and he will stay untouched (though, it’s too late to undo the past). “why are you here?” his god asks, but he already knows the answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he shrugs, hears the chain adjust where it rests on the hardwood floor. “it’s hailing outside, kamukura-kun.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“i have no interest in the hail,” kamukura replies immediately. “i have slightly more interest in what you are doing here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(selfishly, it almost makes him want to die </span>
  <em>
    <span>more,</span>
  </em>
  <span> hearing the echo of what he desperately wants to call not-concern, knowing that he hasn’t left him behind. komaeda retracts the statement he made previously: he hopes he isn’t his. he hopes, with every visceral piece of him, that he’ll be left behind to shatter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>it’ll be what he deserves.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he shifts uncomfortably, but his movements switch to tactical when kamukura slips beside him. he has the brief, fleeting thought of pushing the other out the window. he wouldn’t die. he wouldn’t hate him. he would just walk up the flights of stairs again, or maybe leave the city. he can survive on his own. he can survive without the other. so </span>
  <em>
    <span>why does he stay? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“i’m not very interesting,” he laughs, but it’s choked. “the hail, though… isn’t it peculiar? in the height of summer, to see what usually comes in blizzards. doesn’t this interest you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he’s not unsatisfied with kamukura’s lack of interest. he just wants, with all he has, to divert the faint signs of intrigue away from him. he’s not deserving. he can’t maintain it. someday, kamukura will grow bored-- they both know this-- but what will he do, then? what’s a servant without his master?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>kamukura </span>
  <em>
    <span>still seems </span>
  </em>
  <span>empty. “i know the weather is atypical in this climate. i know how to predict it. it is boring, to me.” and he-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>looks at him-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>looks at </span>
  <em>
    <span>servant-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>as if he is so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>than atypical weather-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>and his entire body aches so, so much, and he isn’t able to move, isn’t able to speak louder than a whisper when he cuts the other off, pleading, “please leave me alone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>kamukura tilts his head, and servant blames the tears in his eyes on frustration, digging his bitten nails into the windowsill and resting his forehead against the glass, resisting the want to break his skull on it when kamukura asks, “why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>he shakes, slightly, and there’s a hand on his wrist. “i can’t do this,” he rasps, and he feels himself sink into self loathing, because he can’t give up, he isn’t supposed to, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he isn’t allowed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “i can, i have to, i don’t-! i’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>suffocating</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“you aren’t,” kamukura says neutrally. “you are okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i’m sitting on a rooftop with shadows underneath my eyes and i can’t even process how much she has done to me, how much you have done to me, both in different ways, and i can’t comprehend how i am still alive even when i should be buried by now, or left to decompose in the sunlight, and it’s a bruise that explores my entire body</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and i wish that when she took me, she could have pressed harder, i could have died</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>never woken up</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and izuru i i i i </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“i wish i was dead,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>and it’s a selfish whisper in the wind, one he hopes the other doesn’t remember, one he knows that he will anyway. something he can never forget, never leave behind. the peak of his selfishness, his inconsiderate incompetence, his worthlessness. it’s true, and he believes it with every faltering part of himself, giving his body and mind up to that caliber of despair (as he has done </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span>, maniacal laughs, fingernail scratches, agony-) and hating himself for it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>kamukura stills, for just a moment, before he picks him up. it’s almost demeaning, the bridal-esque carry, and a breath is released when he’s dropped in their bed. with a neutral expression, kamukura removes the collar from his neck and sets it to the side, tucking him in with blankets, and curling beside him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>kamukura lets him rest his head on his chest. (servant is scared that, in the morning, he’ll be left immobile and silent from guilt).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“go to sleep,” he commands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“i can’t,” he disobeys.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>kamukura sighs, holds him closer, and doesn’t say another word.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(the hail stops, and in the morning servant puts on a smile and walks past the window with carefree steps. in the back of his mind, where he leaves all-he’s-abandoned, he can feel the darkness start to consume him again, piece by piece. as long as he keeps walking, as long as he stops himself from collapse, he can convince himself it won’t catch him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>in the end, it only takes a day until he tries to jump off a six story building, the only thing stopping him being arms around his waist and a quiet, quiet whisper of “not yet.”)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hewwo</p><p>uhhhhhh not sure what this is? it started raining really heavy, and i remembered how a month or so ago, it was hailing sporadically throughout a week even though it was ninety degrees F. so, i wrote a fic about it. and uhh yeah, i dunno, this was self indulgent but like. yeah i don't know what really to say here</p><p>should be working on my multichap fics and yet</p><p>bye darlings, stay safe</p></blockquote></div></div>
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